All That We See Or Seem
by Specificitydarling
Summary: "I've always wanted to see Paris in late spring." 2 weeks after the job Ariadne is back in Paris, but she's not the only one. Post-film! AriadnexArthur
1. Chapter 1

**I saw Inception this weekend and it lew my mind. I started writign this fic straight away because there's just something about these two... Please Tell me what you think! There will be a few more chapters, but I can't say how many because I haven't finalised/written it all yet. **

**Btw, italics are flashbacks, but still set post-film.**

**Disclaimer: Inception belongs to Chris Nolan and his outstanding production team. **

* * *

Two weeks after the job she's back in Paris. Not much has changed, except it's warmer now. She thinks about how much she needs to catch up on since she left with Cobb. Her lectures are the same, her lecturers. Her friends question her impromptu week away, but are satisfied with a half-hearted family emergency and the answer.

When she first came to Paris it was for the city. She could learn architecture anywhere, but in only in Paris could you be immersed in the beauty, the variety. It felt unreal.

Now, Paris is nothing special. It feels as real as the cereal she eats for breakfast and she no longer awes at the building she walks past. They do not compare to the creations she has witnessed. Or that she has helped create.

_She stands near the carousel, watching the bags when Cobb passes. She sees him out of the corner of her eye and turns suddenly staring at his figure as it passes through the doors. She doesn't know what she expected, but after everything, it was not this. It was not him walking out of the airport without so much as a goodbye. He introduced her to this world, this possibility. She feels anger bubbling inside her._

"_He's going home." A voice whispers into her ear and she turns again, to find Arthur by her side. She didn't even notice him step closer. The anger subdues; that is why he did it, she reasons. That is all he ever wanted. _

_She looks at Arthur again. "Is that what you're doing now?" She asks, "Going home?"_

_His face contorts slightly at the mention of home. She studies him like she studies a building; mentally following the edges, scanning the surface, she wishes she could reach up and touch him. _

"_I... I'm used to following Cobb around," he says simply, glancing at the door his friend walked out of just moments earlier. She realises, whatever she was feeling must be worse for him. So much worse._

"_You don't have anywhere to go?" She asks, wanting to invite him home. But her parents live in Michigan, and anyway she wasn't planning to go there. She wasn't planning to ever tell them of this trip. _

"_I will."_

_She believes him. Arthur will sort it out, that's what he does. He'll have a place to go in no time, she's sure of it. But a home... she can't be sure._

"_What about you, where are you going?" he asks and she's surprised, although she isn't sure why. _

"_Uh...I'm getting the next flight to Paris, I guess." She says it so pointedly, as if she really had no other option. And thinking about it, she doesn't. She can't just sit around mulling about what she had seen and felt. She can't tell anyone who hasn't seen it for themselves. Paris is her only option; she needs to go back to school. They will call her if she's needed again, if there's another job. Eames, Yusuf, Arthur, Cobb... they are a team, but they are not her family. _

"_Are you sure?" Arthur asks, his voice is calm, but she notices his grip tighten on his bag._

_She bites her cheek, not sure how to answer. Of course she is not sure. She glances around the busy terminal, scans the carousel and –_

"_Damnit! That's my bag!" she says, suddenly, pointing at a blue suitcase a few metres down the track._

_He drops his own bag and darts down the line. He is fast, faster than he appears. Stronger too from what she's seen and has perfect aim with a gun. For years she has been surrounded by guys who read French poetry and quote existentialists. Who knew that these were qualities she'd come to appreciate._

_He returns within the minute, carrying her bag easily in one hand. He places it at her feet. She looks from the bag, to him, and is irrationally speechless. He smiles ever so slightly, as if he's embarrassed at this act of chivalry._

"_Do you want a cup of coffee?" he asks and she nods, picking up her bag and following him towards the doors. Fischer and Saito are gone by now, Eames is chatting up some lady near the exit, Yusuf is still waiting for his bags. They walk past them with little more than a knowing glance. _

_24 hours later she arrives at Charles De Gaulle, jet lagged and in want of a shower and her own bed. It had been a week of sleeping in van and chairs and hard floors. All she wants is a pillow. She inadvertently thinks of Arthur._

She has not kept in touch with any of them. Not even Arthur. Part of her does not want to hear from them. In a way, they have screwed up her life forever. She can never accept reality for what it is now. She can never call a dream silly. She must come to grips that reality takes a lot longer than dreams. She is condemned to a life of inadequacy.

The Paris sun warms her skin through her sleeves and she mindlessly readjusts the scarf around her neck. On the corner of her street she is stopped by tourists asking for directions. She smiles as they are surprised by her American accent and grateful at the same time to have to use their pocket dictionary.

Coming closer to the front door of her building, she realises a figure standing against the wall. She thinks nothing of it, her building was filled with female students, it was not uncommon for a boyfriend to wait for one of them.

She is only a few feet away from the door when he turns around. She stops suddenly, dropping the keys she had prepared in her hand.

He isn't wearing a suit, was the first thing she notices. She has never seen him out of one. Still though, he's wearing nice pants and a simple shirt, and vest over it. It's probably as casual as he would ever get.

"Hi," he says, breaking the silence which was both awkward and comforting at the same time.

"Hi," she replies after a moment. His hair is still gelled back though and she wonders whether it's just like that naturally. She picks up her keys and goes to unlock the door, walking through it without another word. His eyes follow her, and they meet with her when she stands inside the hallway, next to the staircase.

"Well, are you coming?" she asks. He smiles, that smile again and she wonders what he's embarrassed about. Still he follows her in wordlessly.

In her tiny apartment, he sits on the stool by the kitchen counter. She offers him coffee and he accepts, gratefully. She wonders when he arrived in Paris.

"What are you doing here?" Maybe she could've worded that little more eloquently.

He apparently appreciates it though, because he chuckles and takes a sip on the hot drink before answering. "I've always wanted to see the Arc de Triomphe." His French accents trump hers, and she assumes he's fluent. Of course he would be. Regardless, she doesn't believe him for a second.

"How did you find me?" she asks equally as bluntly.

This he doesn't even bother to respond to, he just looks at her one eyebrow slightly raised until she takes a sip of her coffee. They drink their coffees and he brings up French politics, asking for her opinion. She rolls her eyes but answers nevertheless. She doesn't have much of an opinion, and it's heavily influenced by what she thought of politics growing up at home. But that's not the point.

"Wait," she says and moves quickly into her bedroom. His eyes are still on the doorway when she returns and she knows he was staring after her.

She hands him a towel, "Have a shower, we're going out."

He looks at her, eyebrows raised again but this time it's questioning.

She looks back wordlessly and knows he'll do as she says. He does.

15 minutes later he's back, in his own clothes but looking a lot more refreshed. His hair is slicked back, but this time only because it was wet. She's a little excited to see it when it's dry.

"Where are we going?" he asks, holding his damp towel awkwardly. She takes it from him and tosses it in the laundry basket.

"You're in Paris," she turns back to him, "Let's go see Paris."

He chuckles, and she doesn't want to hear about how many times he's been here before. He's never seen Paris with her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh my gosh, you guys! I've lost count of the amount of reviews/favorite/alerts I'm gotten for this first chapter! Thank you so much! It made me finish this chapter and start the third one that much faster! **

**Again, italics signifies a flshback continuing on from the last flashback :)**

* * *

They've been walking in silence for a while, along the Seine, feeling the Parisian sunset warm their skin. It's breath-taking, she's in awe of the orange haze over the buildings. She's falling in love with Paris all over again.

His hands are shoved in his pockets and he scans the surroundings. He's not worried, just being himself; she wonders if he ever really relaxes. She's not sure what to say to him, but somehow it's not as awkward as she feared.

Finally she stops at a little bench. As if synchronised, he stops as soon as she does. She sits down, he follows, careful to leave enough space between them.

"This is my favorite place in Paris," she says, gazing at the beautiful skyline of the left bank. It's just as beautiful as she remembers; it's real.

"It's beautiful," he agrees, "What do you do here?"

"Think. Watch. Sketch," she lists mindlessly. A month ago she would've added _create._ She'd sit here and imagine what her own skyline would look like. But _create_ has a whole new meaning now.

He doesn't say anything, just gazes along the water. Along with the sun, the temperature is going down as well and she shivers. He looks pained that he has no jacket to offer her.

He looks at her for a moment, hesitating, before sliding across the bench, closer to her. She leans onto him, without thinking, and her head is practically on his shoulder. He waits a moment, then lifts his arm around her shoulder. She's instantly warmed by his touch, though still not sure what to say to him. But maybe, she thinks as his finger taps against her upper arm, they don't need words.

She's not sure how long they've been sitting there. But the sun has nearly completely set now, only offering a crack of purple at the bottom of the infinite blue sky. His hand is motionless on her shoulder, her head resting on his. He smells nice. Like peppermint and suddenly she's uncomfortable.

"So really, why are you here?" she asks, surprising even herself. He still hasn't given her a valid answer though, so it's justified.

She feels him stiffen slightly next to her. "Why not?" he answers finally and she lets out a sigh of frustration.

"That's not an answer."

He wants to debate that, she can tell. But he decides against it. "I've always wanted to see Paris in late spring," he offers instead.

She rolls her eyes, "Yeah. I'm sure you wanted to see the sunsets."

He looks at her pointedly, before a smirk starts playing on his lips. "There's nothing quite like it."

She can't help but smile as well. Instead of thinking of a comeback, she studies him silently. His hair is dry now, and much fluffier than its usual gelled state. One tiny strand had fallen over his forehead and she smiles a little wider. She likes him like this: a little messy. It makes him seem more real, like he wasn't just a dream.

That is perhaps her biggest fear.

"What?" he asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing," she replies, the smile not leaving her lips and returns her gaze to the water.

After a few more minutes he removes his arms from her shoulder and checks his watch. "I should get you home," he says and she is irrationally disappointed.

"I'm not a kid," she says annoyed. She realises, however, that she has no idea how old he is.

He smirks again as if he can read her mind. But he simply stands up and offers her a hand. His grip is strong and steady. Just like when he helped her out of the van, or when they said goodbye at the airport. She's fascinated by him, his hidden strength. He's not bulky, like other guys, yet is probably stronger. She heard about his fight in the corridor, mostly when eames was dragging it out of him. She tries too hard not to imagine him shirtless.

They make their way to the main road and it take a while before she realises he hasn't let go of her hand.

"_You seem worried," his voice pulls her back to reality. If you can call it that. He hand is gripped so tightly around her cup of coffee, her knuckles have gone white and the hot drink iss burning her hand. Yeah, she's worried. _

_Instead of looking at him, she glances around the diner. It's ten minutes from the airport and her plane to Paris is leaving in three hours. She can't look at him though, he's too cool, too calm, he can read her too well. _

_"Tell me it gets better," she says finally, bringing her eyes on him._

"_It gets better," he replies without blinking. _

_She stares at him and realises he's an actor. Maybe not like Eames, but he's playing a part. _

_He stares at her and realises, too late, that what she wanted to hear is not what she needs. He reached out over the table and lays his hand on her wrist. Hey eyes dart to his hand before returning to his face. _

"_There's nothing like this out there. No other experience will ever match up. I'm not going to lie to you. But if you ever need to talk... Well, I've been there." He says the last part with a bit of a smirk and she lets a smile escape. She remains silent, unable to say anything for fear that that she'll burst into tears. But she nods in gratitude and he understands._

At her front door she fumbles with her keys and asks if he's going to come in.

To her disappointment, he shakes his head, "I should get back to my hotel."

She says nothing so he turns to leave, but she catches his arm.

"Wait," she says and he looks at her expectantly, "Will I see you tomorrow?"

He seems relieved, "If you want to," he replies and smiles rather than smirks. She can't help but smile back.

"Goodnight," he takes a step towards her and gently presses his lips to her forehead. It's barely there, but instantly reminds her of the Fischer job.

She closes her eyes and by the time she opens them, he's already a few feet away. Without saying anything, she scurries upstairs to her apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

**So here's chapter three :) It's not completely finished, but it was getting a bit long so it'll be continued in chapter 4. Thank you so so much for all the reviews/favorites and alerts! I've never had this many reviews for so few chapters... it's amazing! Thank you (and please continue hehe).**

* * *

She tries to imagine every pleasant thing she can think of. Beaches, sunsets, her mother's apple pie, brand new sketch books and –

"Ugh!" she groans, eye wide open. Her bedside clock is taunting her. She can't sleep. Cobb and Arthur told her about not being able to sleep, but she can't even get to that stage.

If she's honest with herself, she can't stop thinking about him. Just showing up like that; she isn't sure what to make of it. Groaning again, she gets out of bed. There's no use lying there, staring up at her cracked ceiling and seeing something completely different.

She wants to do something. She needs to do something. She glances at her bookshelf in passing, now organised alphabetically. Her whole apartment is much neater now. When she came back to her cluttered life, she couldn't take it. She found a place for everything, even if for some things it was the trash. She sticks to those places, her desk, her wardrobe, her life so tidy that some of her friends joked that she had developed OCD while she way away.

In the kitchen she swallows two glasses of water and fills up a third but leaves it on the counter. Her couch, a few feet away due to her tiny joint kitchen/living area, looks more inviting than her bed.

She sits down and looks around anxiously, clutching the bishop she had grabbed off her night stand. She wants to see him, to ask him... she isn't even sure. She just needs to see him. It doesn't matter that it's three in the morning, but she realises she has no idea where he's staying. What's she going to do? Call every hotel in Paris and ask for Arthur-

She doesn't even know his last name. She doesn't even have a cell phone number. During the job, they spent nearly every moment together; there was no need to exchange numbers as though it was a singles mixer.

She sees her laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of her and decides she may as well answer that email from her mother. To her surprise, she finds a new email from an unrecognisable address. She's worried about opening it, worried for her new computer. It was the first thing she bought, aside from a ticket back to Paris, that she bought with Saito's generous pay check.

She opens it anyways, and her hand immediately reaches for her bishop as she reads it.

_Hôtel Le Central Paris_  
_6 Rue Descartes_

_Room 528_

_-A_

So characteristic of him: there's no extraneous information. She rereads the address only to realise it's two streets away from hers. Not a coincidence, obviously.

In a matter of minutes, she's dressed in jeans and a jacket, making sure her totem and keys are in her pocket. The address and room number are playing in her head like a record.

He opens the door on the first knock and smirks. Her first instinct is to wipe it off him, but she resists. He's still dressed in what he wore earlier, only his vest is unbuttoned. He hasn't been to bed yet, that much is clear.

"What are you doing here?" he repeats her own question, while stepping aside to let her in.

She sits on the edge of his neatly made bed, "I couldn't sleep," she admits.

He looks sympathetic to her problem and knows he can relate. He moves to the closet, "I don't know about sleep, but how do you feel about dreaming?" he asks, pulling out the silver suitcase. She can't help but smile. She's surprised though; she wouldn't have pegged him for someone to do this for leisure.

She takes off her jacket and places it on the chair in the corner, then lies down on the bed. He places the silver suitcase by her feet and pulls out a needle for her.

"You're coming, right?" she asks, suddenly worried.

He smiles down at her, "of course," and once the needle is in her he takes another for himself. He lies down next to her, stretching to press the button in the centre.

**~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~**

**S**he looks down and sees that her cup of coffee is nearly empty. Across the table, he seems to be draining his own cup, and puts it back on the table with a satisfied smirk.

"Is it weird that we still drink coffee in dreams?" he asks, "Technically, we're already sleeping and yet here we are drinking caffeinated beverages that should keep us awake."

She looks at him, confused and not sure how to even begin answering that. It still challenged her logic that she actually knew she was dreaming, and even more so: that she could control it. Speaking of which, she looks around to see the surroundings she had created thoughtlessly. Quickly she realises that they are in the very same diner they went to after arriving in LA. The interior looked identical. She had once asked Cobb, while she was designing plans for the Fischer job what happened when you entered a dream without having planned it. "Your subconscious does it for you. You might see things that have been on your mind. Or maybe you didn't even know they were."

She smiles; this is her subconscious telling her something. The last place she saw Arthur; it was where they said goodbye.

"Shall we walk?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. She nods and gets out of the booth. He follows, leaving a couple notes on the table. Funny, she never thought about paying for things in dreams before.

He holds the door open for her and she smiles gratefully as she walks through and onto... sand? She looks around, not that surprised when she sees they definitely are not anywhere resembling LA. The beach seems to go on forever, flat sand stretching out for miles. She stares out over the water and watches a few islands grow in size in the distance. She smiles: she's in control now.

"Good job," he says and she only now notices he's standing right behind her, waiting for her to make the next move.

"Thanks," she blushes slightly. He's seen a lot of her creations now, having guided her through all the training, but she's seen very little of his. She's good, they've all told her as much and she picked it up very quickly, but he has experience and it shows. He plans ahead, landscapes change before he even sees them. Streets change directions before they turn the corner, it's much safer for the projections; they don't notice as much. His edges aren't as clean, however... his replicas not quite right. That's why they hired her, he had told her.

She leads the way further onto the beach and they walk along the water. She can't quite place the sun in the sky, but it's daytime though maybe not for much longer. He must think she has a thing for sunsets.

She stops suddenly, and this time it takes him a couple of steps to notice. He had been staring out over the water. She's reluctant to call it a sea or an ocean; she hasn't decided yet. He turns around, eyes worriedly gazing over her. She sits down on the warm sand. He follows soon enough and they feel the warm breeze run through their hair. Or rather, she can. His is back to its gelled state.

She's about to say something, and it's obvious from how she keeps glancing at him. Finally, when she generates the words or the courage she speaks, "Who are you?"

The question is so broad, so ambiguous. She almost feels bad for asking it, because she herself would have no idea how to answer it. But she's curious and she can't help herself. She's intrigued by him, fascinated, enamoured. She wants to learn as much as she can.

He looks lost, "What do you mean?" Perhaps he's hoping to get out of answering it. But she won't let him off that easily.

"I mean, I know nothing about you," she says and pauses for a second before adding, "and you know everything about me."

He lets a smirk escape for a moment, "I do my research."

She raises her eyebrow, "Yeah, well, it's a little hard to research you when I have nothing to go on. What am I gonna do, google 'Arthur?'" she asks.

At this, he actually chuckles, "What do you want to know?"

He's giving her free reign, she can, technically, ask him anything. And she has no idea where to start.

"...How old are you?"

"27," he says and surprises her when he continues further, "in reality. If I spent all my dream time in one dream, I'd be 53."

Her head snaps up, surprised. But when she thinks about it for a moment more, she's not really. He's been doing this for a while, and it was just like him to work it out. He works with details, of course.

She finds it oddly reassuring that he's only four years older than her. In years; in mindset it's probably around 20.

She wants to ask him about Cobb, how they met, when? But she glances at him from the corner of her eye and sees him smile slightly at the sun. She decides she can settle for the smaller details for now. There's time for everything else.

* * *

**Also, I wasn't sure whether I should put the dream/s in italics. I wanted it to be clear that it was different to the original narrative, but I'd already put flashback in italics... so if you could let me know if it was clear enough? thanks! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**I saw inception again today :D and I have the urge to see it approximately 10 more times. It was just as amazing as the first time and I was happy I caught some A/A moments I missed in the first watching. **

**Also, wanted to say a HUGE thank you to everyone that favorited/alerted and, specifically, reviewed. This is the most reviews I have ever recieved for a story, and after only three chapters. I'm so flattered, and hope I can continue to the standard you guys deserve. 3**

**Anyway; here's chapter four. I hope you like it.**

* * *

"**W**ell?"

She drags her gaze from the water to see him looking at her expectantly. She's gives him a confused shake, not sure what he wants.

"I'm guessing my age isn't the only thing you're interested in?" he questions, a smirk playing on his lips once again. He really has to stop that.

She realises she hasn't said anything in a few minutes, having gotten carried away in her thoughts.

"Where are you from?" she asks finally.

He watches a couple of projections, a mother and young daughter, run along the edge of the beach, the waves lapping at their ankles. "Boston."

She nods, "Where did you go to college?"

He turns his head, "How do you know I went to college?"

It's her turn to smirk, "Please, I'd be surprised if you didn't have at least a couple degrees under your belt."

"I'm not a genius, you know," he says, chuckling slightly. "NYU, I went to NYU."

She smiles, trying to picture him in college. She's about to say something when he continues.

"And then Harvard."

She looks up at him and smirks once again, knowing she was right. "Congratulations."

He shrugs.

"So how come you don't see your family?" she breaks the silence and he purses his lips for a moment. She's worried it's too personal.

Eventually he turns his entire body towards her, and rolls up on of his sleeves, "The last time I went home my mother thought I was a drug addict."

She looks at the inside of his arm and sees it speckles with small needle holes; remnants of dozens, maybe hundreds of dreams. She hadn't even thought about the needle before.

"Not exactly a good look," he continues.

"Do they know about... this?" she asks, assuming they don't. She can relate, it's not something that simply comes up in conversation.

"Not the specifics. They know it's questionable and that's enough to keep them away." He answers, and she resists the urge to hug him. She's never seen him so sad and vulnerable before, and she wants to change the topic before it gets worse.

"What's your favourite food?" she asks quickly, changing the topic to the most meaningless she can think of.

He looks at her gratefully, "Food?"

"Yeah. Everyone's gotta eat," she shrugs.

"Japanese."

"What's your favourite color?" she continues quickly.

"Black."

She shakes her head, "Black's not a color, it's a shade."

He can't help but smile, "You're an architect, not a painter."

Still she just looks at him with such intensity that he simply sighs, "Fine. Blue, then."

"What's your favourite song?"

He looks at her again, one brow raised, "What is this, 20 questions?"

"You said I could ask you anything," she defends but when he graces her with the same look she gave him she gives up.

Nearly.

"One more. Why did you kiss me when you knew it wasn't going to work?" She says, her voice surprisingly even though it's the one question she has wanted to ask since he arrived.

His eyes widen in surprise and for once he's speechless. He's mouth is open, as though he's trying to voice something in his defence but before he can say anything they hear a deep hum around them. They both know what it means.

**a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~**

She opens her eyes slowly, and by the time she sits up on his hotel bed, he had already taken out both their needles and was closing the silver case.

"You can sleep here," he offers, not looking at her. But she knows it's not really an option.

"What about you?" she asks glancing around the room. There is only one double bed, and she assumes Arthur isn't the type to share.

"I'll be fine."

She catches his gaze as he returns from the closet where he put the case back. "That's wasn't my question."

He simply nods and flicks off the main light, leaving only the soft glow from the lap in the corner. "Good night, Ariadne."

She realises that this is the first time he's said her name since he arrived. And she realises how incredibly tired she truly is.

She wakes up to the sun creeping through the curtains and her cell phone ringing loudly. Scrambling to reach out of the sheets, she finds it on the bedside table, next to her bishop. She grabs both, one in each hand and grips the totem as she answers.

"Hello?"

"Ari! C'est Sophie!" a loud familiar voice came through the phone.

"Sophie, hi," she replies, a little dazed.

"I am calling to see if you were still available for un café this morning?" Sophie asks, voice laden with French accents, but her grammar impeccable. "We are all going to meet at 11."

"Uh, yeah. I mean, Oui. I'll be there," she says, looking the room and seeing him in the small arm chair near the bed. It looks horribly uncomfortable, but he looks peaceful. As she stares, he starts to shift and she looks away quickly.

"Excellent, à bien tôt!" Sophie says and hangs up before she has a chance to reply.

When she turns back to him, she's surprised to find him wide awake in the chair, looking at her expectantly. She remembers a bit of their dream last night.

"Do you want to meet some of my friends?" she asks, ready to shrug his refusal off like a scarf.

"Sure," he replies, getting up from the chair. His shirt is a little wrinkled, his hair messy.

Surprised, she gets flustered and finally remembers that she needs to go home and have a shower. "I need to -"

"I'll pick you up in an hour," he offers without meeting her eye and she nods.

"Cool. Thanks." She says, wincing because she sounds like such a teenager. She grabs her things, puts on her shoes, which he must've taken off once she'd fallen asleep and runs out the door. She tells herself it'll be find, that Arthur is good with new people. But it doesn't stop her feeling exhilarated because this is the first time they've ever made actual plans. Plans with a time and a place and she has to remind herself that it's not a date.


	5. Chapter 5

**HUGE SORRY for the mix-up, I clicked to fast and ut up the wrong chapter! Sorry! :/**

**I know I sound like a broken record now, but i cannot believe the wonderful response this story has gotten. Thank you all so much! **

**Everything in relation to Paris I took either from memory (I went there once) or Wikipedia :P I actually found this chapter a little harder to write, but I hope I did alright and that you guys like it! **

* * *

She's trying to decide whether she regrets bring Arthur to meet her friends. They weren't particularly close, but they were with whom she spent the most time. At least she and Arthur had worked out a cover story for how they knew each other.

"So, Arthur, how _do_ you know Ari?" Sophie asks, taking a sip of her café au lait. She's a curious one, and Ariadne is actually surprised it's taken her this long to ask. Next to her sits her other friend, Jean and her boyfriend Martin, who was quiet for the most part.

Arthur glances at her when he hears he nickname and his ever-so-slight smile makes her stomach do an involuntary flip.

"Our families know each other back home, I thought I should visit when I came to Paris," he explains casually. Even she almost believes him.

Her friends nod, and Jean asks, "You no longer study, non?"

Ariadne bites her lip. She had hoped that the age difference would not be so obvious. She looks over him; maybe it wouldn't have been, had he not dressed like that. He had foregone the tie and replaced the suit jacket with a black leather one. But still, he looks as proper as always. She's going to need to buy him some jeans, she thinks.

"Right," he nods, hands clasped. Everyone can see where this is going.

"Then what do you do?"

He presses his lips together for a moment, "I have a business with a close friend of mine."

"Lovely!" Sophie gets excited, the way she does with guys she likes; Ariadne smirks, "What sort of business?"

"We do research for other businesses and companies that hire us -" Arthur starts, but Sophie and Jean's confused faces are easy to interpret. Their English is only as good as her French. He pauses, before continuing in fluent French. Though she can only grasp a few words, like "uncovering information", she listens intently to his voice. Which, she's decided, sounds just as lovely in any language. She notices while he talks, that his hand has moved to his pocket and he pulls something out gripping it tightly.

"Sounds very boring and business-y," Martin comments.

She leans forwards suddenly, placing her hand on Arthur's knee. "It is! So, Sophie, you said you were trying to have your paper published in a journal?"

Sophie nods, and leads them through a process of writing for a political magazine. Ariadne's hand is still on his knee, unbeknownst to the others. Slowly, he puts his die back in his pocket and covers her hand with his.

When they are leaving, Sophie pulls her in for a kiss on the cheek and whispers something in her ear. Ariadne blushes and shakes her head. As she turns, she sees him looking at her, half-smirking, half-questioning. She swears he knows.

They walk through the streets of Paris. They could comfortably walk back to hers, or to his hotel. But he had driven them to coffee with a car she hadn't known he had, so she knew they'd have to go back to pick it up. She's watching a couple kiss at the zebra crossing when he speaks up. "What did Sophie tell you?"

She turns to him, reading his face. He doesn't want to ask her, he's not curious by he can't help himself.

"Nothing," she shakes her head, but it's clear he doesn't believe her. He gives her the look they've shared many times before. The one that makes it impossible for either of them to keep secrets. She gives in before he even has a chance to say anything, "She just suggested a place I should take you."

He doesn't reply, and they continue walking.

"Do you want to go?" She asks finally, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

He stops with her, gazing intently, "Sure." He smiles slightly and it begins to infuriate her. He's so subtle with himself, his actions. His feelings, she'd be happy to bet as well. The only time she'd seen him openly display an emotion was when he blew up at Cobb, at the beginning of the Fischer job. Would she ever be able to get such a reaction, any reaction from him?

She refuses to let him drive them, so once they drop his car at the hotel she leads them to the nearest Metro station. When he tries to pay for their passes, she gives him a look. "I don't really count as a struggling student anymore."

He takes the time to chuckle and she pays for their passes and walks in front. They travel the Metro, walk down a few streets and finally arrive at a hill, a couple hundred steps waiting in front of them. She's pretty sure he knows where they are now, and where they're going. He wouldn't be very good at his job if he didn't.

At the top, she leads him through some little side streets, showing him the cobblestone paths and green and blue shutters on the house windows. But really, she needs to waste time until it gets a bit darker. At this rate, he's _really_ going to think she has a thing for sunsets.

Finally, she leads them to a railing, by the edge of the hill. In front of them spans Paris in its near entirety. The city lights shine like stars along the ground. Sophie always said this was the most romantic place in Paris, and looking around, Ariadne could see that a lot of people were in agreement. They were surrounded by couples quietly gazing over the city, or some not looking at the view at all.

He removes his hands from his pockets, and places his elbows on the railing. She notices he's playing with his die and it comforts her to know she's not the only one using it to grasp reality, even when a dream wasn't directly related.

"Why are you here?" she asks bringing out her own totem. She's surprised she asked again, but then, she never was one to give up without an answer.

He stays silent for a while. "I tried not to come," he admits and she recognises her own words.

"But?" she begs for him to continue. Right now she'd give anything to see inside his head.

He turns to face her, gazing into her eyes. She realises he's anxious. He doesn't like admitting he's not on top of everything, not in control. "There's no one quite like you," he admits and even in the semi-dark light, she can tell he's blushing.

She almost wished he didn't tell her, because what is she supposed to do, to say? She reaches up with her free hand and strokes his cheek. His skin is smooth, but of course. He does everything else perfectly; he wouldn't slip up in shaving. She smiles and he returns it and she realises you don't have to be dreaming to be imagining the same thing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Oh, look that that, another chapter already up? I just can't help myself :P Thank you for all the wonderful reviews and thank you to those lovelies to informed me of my update mishap yesterday.**

**Also this chapter slightly assumes you know where Ariadne took Arthur in the last one. They went to Montmartre, a hill at the ~edge of Paris, on which sits the Sacre Coeur Basilica amongst other things. You can google it if you're interested :)**

**Just to let you know, the next chapter will be the ~final chapter, with an epilogue after that. This stpry already ended up being longer than I'd thought and i don't want to drag it out. But I am already planning my next A/A fic ;)**

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**T**hey're back at the railing, although it's much darker now. It must be the middle of the night: the moon is full and gazing down on them. It's warmer than it should be.

The city is her first clue: she can see the layout has changed. The Louvre is too close to the Arc de Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower is on the wrong side of the Seine. Whether this is on purpose, or simply a fault in his memory, she can't be sure.

She takes out her bishop, places it flat on her hand and flicks it. An impossible centre of gravity keeps it upright and now she's positive. She puts it back in her pocket and paces her hands on the railing, "It's beautiful."

She knows he's right next to her even though he hasn't said anything. She can feel him.

"It's not accurate," he says and she can tell he hates being wrong. He won't change it though, he's too cautious about projections to even attempt it.

He places his hand on the railing next to hers, so close their fingers are touching. She's not sure what to say, what he wants to hear. By his hesitation it seems he feels the same and she nearly laughs because she'd never think of him as apprehensive.

Whether it's that she's know this isn't real, or that she knows it is, she feels suddenly confident. She moves her hand slightly, placing it over his.

"It's perfect," she says simply and he turns his head. She's not sure she's ever seen his eyes so gentle before. So uncalculating, so open. She wishes he would always look at her like that.

"Let's sit down," he offers and she's confused because she can't see any benches nearby. He chuckles and turns her around. She nearly gasps; the entire Basilica is gone and replaced with a huge open building, a series of open terraces with spiral staircases up the sides. There are couches spread out on each level, the kind you simply sink into. In front of each is a small table, lit candles in golden holders. Everything is so intricate, so perfect. This he had to have planned.

She looks at him, he's smiling, obviously pleased with her reaction. He takes her arm gently and leads her to the stairs and by the time they reach the top she's intertwined her fingers with his.

They sit on a couch at the edge of the terrace, which is bordered by a glass barrier. She smiles; of course safety would come first in his dream. In no time at all, a projection comes by an place two glasses of champagne on the table wordlessly.

They each take a sip and lean back on the couch, it is perhaps the most comfortable thing she's ever sat on.

She's gazing at the city, marvelling at the beauty of his Paris when he finally speaks. She's become so comfortable in his warm silence that it surprises her. "Tell me about yourself."

She turns, an brow raised in confusion, "You already know everything about me." And he does, she'd caught a glimpse of the file he has of her: it holds her entire history. Even the name of her childhood dentist, which she had forgotten long ago, if she had ever known it.

He shakes his head, "No, I only know what you could've potentially found out about me."

If she knew his last name, she thought, "Then what do you want to know?"

He smirks, as is overwhelmed with the possibility of asking whatever he wishes. At this point, there's probably nothing he wouldn't tell him, and she has a feeling he knows this. She takes another sip of champagne and wonders if you can get drunk while you're dreaming.

"Why architecture?"

She shrugs. Honestly, she's what she wanted since she was young; never a question, always the answer. "Creation, with real purpose. It never ceased to amaze me." And now, it never will.

If it's a test, she's passed. He smiles, "Why Paris?"

She almost scoffs and points her glass out at the view, "Look at it. Why _not_ Paris?" They are both aware that this is not the real Paris, the accurate Paris, but it doesn't matter to her.

"What do you want most?"

His question surprises her, the gravity of it and the way he's looking at her like anything she named, he'd manage it. "Uh... that's a little big, don't you think? I'm only 23."

He chuckles and revises it, "Okay, What do you want most right now?"

She takes the opportunity to glance at his profile as he takes a sip of champagne. She's only now noticed that his hair isn't gelled back, at least not as firmly as before. There's a little movement in it, from the breeze.

"For you to kiss me again."

His head turns towards her so suddenly she's worried about his neck. His eyes are wide, questioning whether he heard her right. They hadn't talked about it, hadn't mentioned it apart from her question that remained unanswered due to the timer. But neither had forgotten.

She bites her lips, but gazes into his eyes, not backing down. If this fails, she can just fling herself over the barrier. She'd wake up and go home and they'd never talk of it again.

He stares back at her, ever so serious and before she realises he's shifted closer, his head now inches away from hers. He's giving her time to back out.

She wants to laugh, but instead she leans towards him meeting his lips halfway. They press against each other for a moment, lips warm and soft and tasting slightly of champagne. She pulls away, and sees a questioning disappointment in his eyes; she simply takes his glass from his hand, and places it with hers on the table. She places her palm on his open hand, resting on his knee and joins her lips to his again. He smiles against her lips and moves his hand to her cheek. He's an incredibly good kisser, and she doesn't want to think about when he got the practice. She completely ignores their surroundings until they all disappear around her.

**~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~a~**

She opens her eyes and sees the hotel ceiling above her. She resists groaning out of frustration but decides that next time she's setting the timer and she's definitely setting it to more than five minutes. She feels the bed shift and sits up. He's already up, of course. Packing up the suitcase. She's not sure how he manages to remove her needle without her knowing, but she does know that he's avoiding her gaze.

"Arthur," she says, rubbing her eyes.

"It's not that late, I can walk you home if you want?" he offers, standing by the wardrobe.

She stares at him, is he being serious.

"Arthur," she repeats, hoping to snap him out of whatever dream he thinks he's having. She gets up off the bed, pulling down her shirt that had risen up.

"You can just sleep here." He's red, she notices. She's relieved, at least that's something.

"Arthur," she says once more, walking up to him.

"You can take the bed," he says.

She simply crashes her lips into his. He tenses up at first, but within seconds, he's tangled his fingers in her hair and she's attempting to pull out his shirt.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys, sorry it's taken me longer to get this chapter up: life kinda got in the way and then i just wasn't satisfied with it. This in the ~last chapter, although here will be an epilogue after this... **

**Again, italics signify a flashback, a _real_ memory. I hope it's clear enough :)**

**I still cannot believe the response this story has gotten... thank you so much, all of you :) Can't wait to write more A/A!**

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When she opens her eyes, she first sees the nightstand, their totems sitting on it, side by side. Her first thought is that she never dreams on her side. Slowly, last night starts coming back to her. She needs her bishop, she needs to know; she reaches out to grab it.. But while her arm is free, her body's trapped under someone else's. Paying attention now, she can feel the solid grip around her waist, not possessive but protective. Her leg intertwined with another under the sheets. She wonders whether he's awake, because she wouldn't be surprised if he's pretending to be asleep while waiting for her. He lets out a breath as she shifts in his arms. The sheet moves between them and she feels his bare chest on her back and how warm his skin is. This cannot be real.

"Good morning," he whispers. His voice sounds content and she can almost feel the smirk on his lips.

"How'd you know I was awake?" she asks.

"Your breathing changed," he says simply and she knows he was, indeed, awake and waiting.

She smiles and twists her head to try and look over her shoulder. She can't see his face, but she can see the arm wrapped around her. She knew those suits were hiding something good.

After a moment he moves his arm and she's free to leave. She stretches out to reach her bishop and settles back, this time facing him.

He smiles as she tests her bishop on her palm. She sees it fall, feels the grooved side land on her skin. She smirks, unable to conceal her relief. Or maybe happiness.

He's shifted himself by now sitting up slightly, his shoulders against the headboard. She glances over his chest and stomach – his muscles make her breath hitch. She imagines for a moment, Sophie's reaction, and chuckles to herself.

Somehow, his own totem appears in his hand and he's rolling it around on his palm.

"I have a ticket to New York for tonight," he says not looking at her. His tone gives it away though: he's not saying he's leaving, he's asking.

She doesn't hesitate. "Don't go."

He nods, a smile gracing his lips, "Okay."

"Stay," she says, which should mean the same thing, but they both know the difference.

This gets his attention; he looks up at her, "Okay," and her heart warms. "I can find a more permanent place tomorrow."

Monday. School. Reality. She can't imagine that right now, not after this weekend. "You can stay with me," she offers.

He looks at her again, his free hand taking hers, "Ariadne, we've got the most impossible job in the world. You're still in school, you're studying -"

He was giving her time, space, a choice. His eyes showed no doubt, only reason.

"I'm sure about this," she says, adamant. And she is, more than anything.

He smirks, "Good. Then be sure that it'll happen. Eventually."

She wants to scoff. Eventually? Patience, unlike him, was not her strong point.

She wants to ask if eventually means soon. Wants him to promise her that it will happen. Because she's not good with waiting and she's not good with loose ends. That's something they have in common, she thinks.

But she doesn't want to push him, as if he could be pushed. She looks him in the eye and it's as if she can read him, as if he lets her. Her smile widens for a moment before her lips join to his. The kiss is quick, soft, gentle. She's come to appreciate these and to realise that they have just as much feeling and passion as any other, if you let them.

_Ariadne opens her eyes slowly; her ears are filled with the loud drone of the airplane. Even so, it takes her a moment to figure out where she is. Her head is spinning and she's trying desperately to remember, to remember anything. Flashes run through her head: water, snow, hallways. She sits up suddenly, breathing heavily, eyes wide. _

_A figure crouches down beside her seat, so stealthily she wouldn't have even noticed if he hadn't held out a glass of water in front of her face._

"_Here, have some. Your totem is still in your jacket pocket," Arthur says and she looks at him. He's giving her a half-reassuring smile and that look that he has when he's on top of things, when he's in control. It makes her feel a lot better. _

_He continues to hold to hold the glass as she searches her jacket for her bishop. She finds it in the left pocket and grips it tightly, her knuckles turning white. She turns her head to look at him. He looks calm, too calm but somehow she's not embarrassed about being so panicked._

"_It never felt like this before," she says, before taking the glass and draining it entirely. Well, the first time, when Mal stabbed her. But they'd practised it dozens of times since then._

_He smiled, sympathetically she noted, "This wasn't just another dream, Ariadne," her name slips of his tongue and she realises how rarely he actually says it. "You went so much further than we expected you to."_

_Her grip softens around her totem and she nods, offering a half-smile to show that she's alright. He doesn't say anything else but wraps his finger around her wrist for a moment. His grip is warm and solid, but not too strong. She feels her breathing evening out. Eventually she leans back on her seat, glancing around the pod. Eames was looking in her direction, his gaze worried and knowing at the same time. Cobb, and Saito are still sleeping and she wills herself not to get panicked again. Fischer's eyes are wide as he looks around. She can imagine what he's feeling: the confusion. There's nothing quite like it._

_Arthur smiles at her once more, and places a hand on her shoulder before standing up, "You did an excellent job, Ariadne. You should rest now."_

_She wants to laugh at this. We've been sleeping for 8 hours, she wants to say. Instead she stays silent and stares at her bishop in her hand, feeling its weight. Her lips feel warm, and they are soon graced with a smile._

She pulls away and turns around to lean back on him, positioning the sheets around them. His hand falls around her waist, where she's come to expect it.

"What's the plan, then?" she asks. He is the plan guy, after all.

"Do you have any homework?"

She laughs, "I'm not 15." But she's met with an expectant silence, urging her to continue, "Not really," she sighs. "Just have to finalise an assignment. It's fine."

"You should finish it," he says. He's probably never handed anything in late in his life. He's probably never gotten less than an A, either.

"What about you?" she asks. She doesn't want to go. To be honest, she doesn't want to get out of bed. Although she is hungry. As if on cue, her stomach rumbles. he chuckles at this, and reaches to the nightstand to grab the room service menu.

"I'll be fine. Can I take you to dinner tonight?" he asks, handing it to her.

She holds it so he can read it as well. "Like a date?" her stomach does a flip but she can't help but smirk. She remembers Eames muttering something about Arthur having an eye for her, back in the first week. It was so long ago, it feels like a year has passed since then.

He chuckles, but says nothing and somehow this makes her smile even more. "How do you feel about pancakes?"

"Hmm... I'm more of a waffles guy."


	8. Chapter 8

**Goodness, my hugest sincerest apologies for the wait! I hate to give excuse, but i've had the most intense weekend in a while; uni work is piling up etc etc etc. Anyway, I'm well on my way to starting my next A/A fic _(cue shameless self promotion!)_ an have many of the chapters planned out, except of course the first... But be on the look out, I'm hoping to post it by the end of the week!**

**I hope you like this epilogue. I had second thoughts about it, because I quite liked where I ended the previous chapter. But this idea kept throwing itself at me so I went ahead with it! **

**Thank you to all my amazing amazing reviewers/alerters/favoriters! I've never had such a lovely response to a story before and the Inception fandom is quickly becoming my favorite! I love you all 3**

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She steps out of the building into the warm sunlight. When the school year started, she had no preference to summer vacations. Unlike most of her classmates, school is what she loves. Studying, learning, it is part of the reason she came to Paris. She half-expected to spend her holidays finding some sort of internship. After the Fischer job, however, her priorities flip-flopped. She can't imagine giving up her passion, but at the same time, a new one grew. Real architecture, however extraordinary would never measure up to the dream world. The level of creation would never cease to amaze her, despite Arthur insisting she'd get used to it.

Since the Fischer job, and especially that fateful weekend, she has been looking forward to the summer. No more late-night research or last minute assignments. He had been a great help, he'd stay up with her, doing his own thing so she wouldn't be alone, or help her brainstorm ideas. Though he found his own apartment, a few streets from hers, he spends very little time there and she does not mind at all.

Repositioning her bag over her shoulder, she waves to a couple of friends as she makes her way to the front gates. He's there, leaning against the stone wall, as he always is when he picks her up. Which is less often after Sophie saw them once, and her reaction to their relationship was neither quiet nor subtle. But today is a special day.

His hair is slicked back, as per usual. His slacks, which could very well be dress pants, are ironed to perfection but heat has demanded he forego any sort of vest today. Instead his blue shirts it's neatly against his skin, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. She tries to ignore how handsome he looks, though she is faced with it daily.

He looks up when she is a few feet away, his typical half-smile on his lips. She opens her mouth to speak, but instead just silently mouths "hey", before standing on tiptoe to press a soft kiss to his lips. It is ritual, quick, gentle, just like the first. He places a hand on her cheek, keeping it there when she pulls away, his thumb stroking her skin.

"Shall we go?" he asks. She nods eagerly, too eagerly and his lips quirk up trying to restrain a chuckle.

They are halfway home, it would've been faster with the Metro, but on such a lovely day she wants to take her time in the sun. They take a longer route, going down to the Seine, to water by the water. Besides, she's realised there's nothing quite like holding his hand, his grip is always soft but solid.

"Cobb called. There's another job." He says suddenly. She's only half surprised by this, and half elated. She could not deny she'd been waiting for this.

They stop at a railing, similar to the one when he first came to Paris. She glances at him, "I thought he was on a break." She thought Cobb had quit, after doing all that to get back to his kids she couldn't imagine him leaving them again. Then again, she couldn't imagine him giving up this job either.

He nods, "He is. But the client didn't know that." She looks out onto the water while he continues, "Eames is arriving tomorrow afternoon."

This gains her attention; she raises an eyebrow, "Eames?'

"He's good at what he does," Arthur sighs and she chuckles. If anything, she's missed their banter; it was like watching two small children, except with particularly advanced vocabularies.

"So you're going to do it?"

The way he looks at her is almost apologetic. "It's my job, Ariadne. It's what I do."

She wanted to argue sheer semantics. He did so much more. He was possibly the most intelligent person she knew, he could probably get a job anywhere and do it well. He read to her and proof-read her essays and made her dinner and wrapped his arms around her at night. She would never ask him to give up the dreams. It's not all he did, but she understands: it's part of who he is.

She doesn't say anything of this; instead she steps closer to him, placing her hand on his chest. He gazes down her on her questioningly, she's been quiet for too long.

"Okay," she nods, "I'm in."

His expression doesn't change, but his breathing does. He was unsure, she realises, of her reaction.

"You don't have to," he says, lifting a hand to touch a strand of her hair.

She smiles, "I know. But there's nothing quite like it, is there." She lifts her head to look at him, "Besides, I'm on holiday now."

His lips quirk up, but before a whole smile can emerge he presses them to hers. She's extraordinarily excited, for the job, to see Eames, to build things that have a purpose, for their future. He pulls away, resting his forehead on hers. His breath is warm and pepper-minty as it blows over her face. Her hand searches, and quickly finds his, their finger intertwining as though it were natural, as though they had been doing it forever.

His steady smile quirks up again, "Fine, but you're telling Eames."

She laughs, "You know he'd never let you leave unteased."

He makes a slight grimace at the thought and she laughs again, getting even more excited for this reunion, for this reality she can choose to create. Ironically, for this dream come true.

Her free hand grabs his shirt collar and pulls his lips back down to hers. For now, there is no rush.


End file.
